Major Crimes: Guilty
by MyLadyLorna
Summary: One of Rusty's former clients catches up with him, and it's up to Sharon to put the creep behind bars. Rated M for abuse of a minor (all off screen and only in the first chapter).
1. Chapter 1

**Story: **Major Crimes: Guilty

**Chapter:** One

**Characters:** Sharon and Rusty**  
**

**Rating: **M for abuse of a minor (off screen and only in this chapter)

**Summary:** One of Rusty's clients catches up with him, and it's up to Sharon to stop him.**  
**

**Moi: **Everyone has bad days, and this is the result of one of mine. There will be nothing sexually explicit ever described during this story (I make that promise right now) only off scene abuse, and that only in this first chapter. I grieve for Rusty's former life, and I always knew it would catch up to him.

* * *

It hurt a lot. More than Rusty remembered. It disgusted him more than he remembered, too. That explained the vomit staining his shirt, and the way his knees turned to jelly, refusing to hold his weight. Scratches marred his forearms from where they'd been scraped through the gravel; the rock fragments mixing with the droplets of blood. He shivered in the deserted alley, his back pressed against the unforgiving stone of the abandoned building. The nakedness humiliated him. On autopilot, he reached for the ripped remains of his jeans, tugging them up his trembling legs. The zipper was totally destroyed, but the button was still functional, so he fastened it, tugging his shirt tail down to hide himself.

Struggling upright, Rusty gripped the wall, one hand going to his mouth, trying to force down the bile. Sharon's face flashed in front of his eyes, and Rusty's trembling increased. _How did I ever do this for a living?_ He'd recognized the man, somewhere between his nervousness at hearing footfalls behind him, and the blunt object striking the back of his head. Now that he could breathe without dry-heaving, he reached for the back of his hair. Sure enough, sticky liquid coated his hand, red when he looked down at his fingers.

_That was stupid, Rusty. Real stupid_.

He should have been suspicious at the wink the man had given him on the street corner while they'd both been waiting for the traffic light to change. There was something familiar about his nose, although Rusty never examined his clients that closely. It was just a job; nothing personal. But he wasn't in business anymore. This was an act of violation.

Tripping over his feet, Rusty reached the end of the alley and found himself only a few steps from where he'd been knocked unconscious. The man hadn't even bothered to move him very far. Numbly, and he wasn't sure how, Rusty found his way home. It was only when he reached the front door of their apartment that he realized his backpack was missing, probably dropped during the process of being dragged half-conscious through the muck and grime of that alleyway.

He had no key.

All thoughts of sneaking inside and cleaning himself up so Sharon would never suspect, vanished. Moisture dripped down his cheeks, but there were no sobs. He didn't lift a hand to staunch the tears: just let them fall, just as he slid down the door to a crouching position to wait. He heard the pock-pock of her high heels long before she rounded the corner toward him. There was the familiar jingling of her keys as she pulled them out of her purse.

Sharon rounded the corner, eyes focused on her cell phone, a puzzled crease furrowing her brow. She was undoubtedly calling him, but his cell probably lay in a crushed heap in a pile of refuse, or had been snagged by some homeless dude, all too happy to score something he could hock for a few bucks to the right buyer. No matter how much he wanted to, Rusty couldn't look away from her. He waited for her to notice him. It didn't take long. With that crease deepening, Sharon looked up to slide the phone back into her purse.

Neither of them moved. It felt as though he were telling her the entire grisly story without ever having to open his mouth. Tears glittered behind her glasses as she unlocked the door over his head, and then gently helped him stand up and shuffle inside. He wanted to change, but first there was the camera. He hated this part. When Daniel had punched him, almost the very first thing Sharon did was take photos for physical evidence. Now, he obediently posed where she moved him, every angle of his abuse captured in unforgiving high definition.

He headed down the hall, grabbed some clean clothes, and then locked the bathroom door behind him. A few minutes later he stepped out again, his stocking feet scuffing on the carpet. Unlike most women, Sharon kept an emergency medical kit in almost every room in the house. Rusty had teased her about it more than once. She'd pulled the one from the kitchen and already had antiseptic and bandages spread out neatly on the coffee table.

Her dabs on his scrapes were gentle. Rusty meekly turned away from her so she could reach the back of his head. The cool professionalism she'd maintained behind the camera on her phone was all but gone now. Her gasp echoed between them, but then delicate fingers began daubing on antiseptic, the burn flaming through his scalp. It only took a few seconds. She didn't inquire after other injuries, and he didn't volunteer any information.

"I have to take you to the emergency room, Rusty."

Her voice was low, carefully controlled.

Sharon turned him to face her.

"Did you recognize him?"

He nodded.

"Could you pick him out of a lineup?"

Another nod.

"I don't suppose you know his name?"

Rusty only looked at her, big eyes somber.

"Come on. I'll call it in when we get to the hospital."

She scooped her purse off the counter, and ushered Rusty out the door.

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Reviews, please . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Story: **Major Crimes: Guilty

**Chapter:** Two

**Characters:** Sharon and Rusty**  
**

**Rating: **T for thematic elements (M only in 1st chapter)

**Summary:** One of Rusty's clients catches up with him, and it's up to Sharon to stop him.**  
**

**Moi: **My bad day ebbed, but my passion for this story hasn't. I want justice to be served to scumbags like the men who took advantage of Rusty when he thought he had no other alternative. The only way I can do that is to write, which is why this story burns so brightly in my heart. Thanks for reading, and for reviewing. I appreciate each one of your thoughts and encouragements. I know the story isn't an easy one to read, so I commend you for coming along with me.

* * *

Rusty felt Sharon's pacing up and down the hallway as he sat in that chilly room, dressed only in a hospital gown, submitting to rounds of examinations by at least two medical personnel at all times. The nurse kept her features stoically impassive, all except her eyes. Those glittered with emotional response to his situation, and only heightened Rusty's embarrassment. The questions themselves had been embarrassing enough, but the examination was far worse. Finally, he was bandaged, and medicated, and permitted to pull the sheet up around his body and lie down, burrowing into the pillow, and struggling to find a comfortable spot on that obscenely hard bed.

The moment the doctor passed through the door, he heard Sharon jump on him, a multitude of other voices joining hers. _Great, that's just great. _The entirety of Major Crimes had shown up. Their concern touched him, but red humiliation crept up his neck to attack his ears. Finally, the door creaked open, and Sharon stepped in.

It was just Sharon.

Rusty exhaled the smallest sigh, but she noticed it anyway.

"They're only worried about you, Rusty," she murmured, smoothing the sheet on his bed.

"It's just . . . I hate being stared at like a specimen in a jar," he responded, eyes downcast, fingernail plucking at a thread, working it loose.

"I know. Believe me when I say that you're not responsible for this man's actions. What he did was rape, nothing less than rape. He will be held accountable for it." Sharon's lips drew together tightly.

Someone knocked on the door, and Rusty looked away, focusing on a speck on the otherwise sterile white wall by his bed. Sharon called out permission to enter, and the next thing he knew, his social worker stood next to his foster mother, looking at him with the same glittering sympathy as the nurse. For the first time since he'd come to live with Sharon, Rusty felt the almost overwhelming urge to run. Just run, anywhere, just away from the compassion and sympathy that shot daggers with its very softness.

"Please, don't say anything. Just note what happened, and go away. The doctor can give you all the delectable details, I'm sure. You don't need me to rehash it again."

Rusty knew the deadness in his voice hurt them, but he couldn't help it. Just like when his mother left, he could feel himself shutting down, slipping away, back into the cool darkness where he didn't have to feel anything.

Sharon's voice echoed in the room, but he couldn't decipher a single word of the conversation. Her hand smoothed across his forehead, brushing back his hair that was suddenly damp with beaded perspiration. A warm wash cloth soothed his skin; on his brow, on the back of his neck, pressed gently against the pulse points on his wrists. A bit of liquid splashed on his hand. In a daze, Rusty lifted it and stared at the perfect circle of moisture, his eyes finally focusing.

Sharon was crying.

It took every bit of strength he could muster to look at her, to bring himself back enough to care that she was in enough pain for the both of them.

"Oh, Rusty, I am so sorry."

He clung to her, arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her neck. They wept together, in silence, no sobs to break the stillness of the room, and alert anyone in the hallway about the grief they were enduring together.

Never once had Rusty's mother held him so closely. Not once had she put his needs and wants above her own, but now, this empirical and fierce woman soothed him as she would have done with one of her own children. Rusty wept until there were no more tears, for his broken childhood, for his lost innocence, and for the agony written across every line of Sharon's already weary face.

Finally, they let each other go at the same moment, reading in one another's touch that the storm was ebbing. Sharon's glasses were smudged, and with the slightest crinkle in the corner of his eye, Rusty reached up and removed them, dipping the edge of his sheet into the carafe of water by his bed to clean them. The results weren't perfect, but it was better than being tear-stained.

Swiping a tissue under her eyes in an attempt at quelling her runaway mascara, Sharon murmured, "You'll need to give a statement to the officer outside, too, Rusty. We also have a sketch artist, so be as precise as possible."

Handing the glasses back to her, Rusty clutched at the sheet while she adjusted them. The lenses hid most of the damage, but she still had raccoon-like circles marring her skin underneath the frames.

She opened the door, and spoke quietly to someone in the corridor. A male officer, a burly man, stepped inside. He wasn't from Major Crimes.

"Rusty, this is Officer Carlisle from SVU. It'll be fine. I'll be right outside if you need me."

A sudden jolt of fear shot up his spine, and Rusty grabbed for Sharon's sleeve, urging her to understand.

She didn't even hesitate.

"I'll stay."

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Chapter Three coming soon; reviews are nice . . .


	3. Chapter 3

**Story: **Major Crimes: Guilty

**Chapter:** Three

**Characters:** Rusty and Kris

**Rating: **T for thematic elements (M only in 1st chapter)

**Summary:** One of Rusty's clients catches up with him, and it's up to Sharon to stop him.

**Moi: **Please don't roast me for taking so long to update! But consider this, at least now we know Kris is a girl! I wouldn't have known that if I'd kept going with the story before the start of the 2nd season. Thanks for reading, and for reviewing. I appreciate each one of your thoughts and encouragements. I know the story isn't an easy one to read, so I commend you for coming along with me.

* * *

Textbook in hand, Rusty squared his shoulders and walked straight into his lit class, making a beeline for the desk he normally took towards the middle. His gait held steady despite the ache in his hips and lower back, the bandages on his knees hidden from sight by his uniform pants. There was nothing he could do to hide the scrapes across his face, however, and he shifted in his seat at the curious eyes of classmates lingering on him.

Fingers playing slightly with his bangs, trying to force them over the scrape, Rusty jumped when Kris plopped a notebook on the desk. "Here's the notes I took for the last lecture. Remember, it's your turn this week."

One arm over the back of his chair, Rusty knew he looked poised for flight and the smile Kris always wore faded as she took in the damage done to his face. Her hand lifted towards his forehead, but Rusty caught it midway, forcing a smile he didn't feel.

"What happened?" She let her fingers rest trustingly in his palm and the ache in his chest deepened.

"I just, uh, slipped in a puddle from last night's rain. Sorta kissed pavement."

"Really?"

She knew. Not all the details, but he'd shared with her about the letters he was receiving, more than he admitted to Sharon, and so she understood the danger he was currently in.

"Yeah, really. Don't worry about it, I'm fine."

Brow creasing, Kris gave him "the look" that said she didn't believe a word of it, but settled into her seat next to him without an argument just as their teacher walked into the room. This was the 2nd week in their study on _A Streetcar Named Desire_ and Rusty opened his worn copy, borrowed from Lieutenant Flynn, to Act III.

* * *

The dial at his locker rebelled and Rusty yanked on it harder than strictly necessary. His fist banged into the metal door, echoing down the hallway and silence reigned for a few seconds before the idle chatter of his classmates continued. Rubbing his knuckles where they were already turning red, Rusty exhaled steadily through his nose before inhaling. Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, turn the dial again, click the lock, open the door.

A shadow crept up on him, but he recognized the soft scent of lilac before Kris even leaned against the adjacent locker.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Retrieving the textbook for biology and methodically re-locking the door, Rusty shook his head.

"Is there a reason you're not believing me?"

Her lips narrowed along with her eyes.

"Maybe I would believe you except I saw those letters. What's going on?"

Shoes clicking on the worn tile, Rusty started down the hallway, half hoping she would take the hint, which she never did. Within seconds he felt a hand on his arm.

"Look," he shifted the book to one arm and placed his other palm on her shoulder, "this has nothing to do with the letters. I swear to you. Just . . . for my sake, please let it go. I can't talk about this right now."

Kris stepped back, crossing her arms.

"You know, Rusty, friends trust each other."

"I do trust you, Kris, but you can't help me right now. Not with this."

Nibbling on her lower lip, Kris examined a particularly black scuff mark on the floor.

"So, we studying after school?" Her voice was still slightly stiff. "That test's coming up you know, and I'm still not sure if you understand Stella's reason for staying with Stanley."

Rusty exhaled in relief.

"Yeah, the study date's still on."

Opening the door to his next class, Rusty paused.

"Oh, and Kris."

She turned.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

She swung her heavy dark hair over one shoulder, squinting at him.

"I'll get an answer someday, but for now, no problem."

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As always, reviews appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Story: **Major Crimes: Guilty

**Chapter:** Four

**Lead Character:** Rusty

**Rating: **T for thematic elements (M only in 1st chapter)

**Summary:** One of Rusty's clients catches up with him, and it's up to Sharon to stop him.

**Moi: **I guess I'm making up for not updating in so long! School starts on Monday so let's see how far I can get until then. Also, I'd say this story takes place maybe halfway through the 2nd season. I just got caught up on the latest episode and obviously my Rusty hasn't shattered Kris's heart yet. So sad! *sniffle* Thanks for the reviews, guys, keep them coming.

* * *

Rusty glared at Detective Sanchez. "Do you have any idea how straight-laced most of my johns were? There is no way this guy is in one of these!" He slapped the book of mug shots closed, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

A muscle jumped in Sanchez's jaw, but he merely opened the book again and requested calmly, "Humor me, Rusty. I know it's probably a long shot, but we have to start somewhere."

Shoulders slumping, Rusty stared down at the rows of vacant-eyed men lining the pages. It wasn't worth arguing with Sanchez so he flipped through the pages, barely glancing at the men for any length of time. A few he recognized, but kept his facial muscles from reacting despite the nausea churning in his stomach. None of them were the man from the alley. He finished the book and shook his head.

"Like I told you, this guy's too straight-laced to have ever been caught."

Sanchez's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think he's straight-laced?"

Digging deep into his memory of the man, Rusty shrugged. "I don't know, he just . . . always seemed so in control. He always dressed smartly in those power suits and patent leather shoes. He acted like he was used to being obeyed, and not just by his boys." Lacing his fingers together, Rusty mused, "Like power came naturally to him."

"Like maybe he's in government?"

Draining the last of his soda, Rusty sighed. "I don't know, Detective Sanchez. I've tried so hard _not_ to remember them. It's weird looking back. The picture's sort of fuzzy now, and I like it that way."

"All right, that's enough for now." Sanchez gathered the mug shots and his notebook as Rusty opened the interview room door and chucked his soda can into the trash. "Rusty?"

Rusty glanced over his shoulder.

"We'll catch this son of a bitch."

Rusty only nodded and let the door swing closed behind him.

* * *

"Anything?"

Sanchez settled heavily into the chair across from Sharon's desk. "No. I think he may have recognized someone, but it wasn't our guy or he'd have said something."

Recapping the pen in her hand from where she was signing papers, Sharon replaced it neatly in her desk drawer. "He didn't say anything that could be helpful?"

"Only that he thinks the guy is used to being in control, as if it was natural to him. I'm thinking government official or a rich dude who didn't get enough attention from daddy when he was a kid." Sanchez rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

Sharon straightening, tilting her head. "It would be logical to assume he's local since Rusty said he was a regular. Rusty mentioned he was used to being in control?"

Sanchez nodded. "Yeah, and he always dresses in sharp suits and fancy shoes. Like he's got places to go and people to see."

"All right then. I want you and Detective Sykes to research any of our local government officials and find any that might have," she paused, "aberrant tendencies. Anyone with a complaint against them by a minor or a teen, even the ones that dropped charges."

"You got it."

* * *

Rusty shot down the hall the moment they finished dinner. The elephant in the room overrode any semblance of a normal conversation he and Sharon might have shared. The click of his door effectively blocked out the discomfort and he collapsed backwards onto the bed, a beam of fading light sneaking through the blinds with perfect aim. Rather than bothering with the blinds, Rusty propped a hand across his eyes.

The memories were returning. No matter how hard he tried to fight them, they kept resurfacing. The guy from the alley had been one of his more . . . insistent johns. Insisting on an intimacy that Rusty despised and the memory now caused his fingers to twitch. With a vicious swipe across his lips, Rusty bolted for the bathroom, gargling mouth wash. Only when the bottle was half empty did he set it down on the counter and examine his shaky reflection in the mirror. That john had been the only one to insist on kissing. The others all had something else more immediately in mind.

His supper broiled and Rusty kicked the bathroom door shut as he flung up the toilet seat. Knuckles rapped on the door after a few minutes and Rusty coughed, flushing the toilet and getting shakily to his feet. Sharon peered around the edge of the door at him, her eyes soft in the low lighting of the bathroom. He gulped some water and spewed it back into the sink, coughing. She didn't say anything, just collected a washcloth from the cabinet under the sink, moistened it and laid it across the back of his neck. The coolness immediately relieved the pressure pounding in his skull.

"I'm sorry, Sharon."

"For what?" Her hands soothed, brushing sweat-damp hair back from his eyes.

"For everything. For being such a mixed-up kid and bringing more grief into your life when you already have enough to deal with just by going to work everyday."

"Rusty, nothing that happened is your fault. Look at me." She forced his chin up. "We have some leads we're looking into. Who you were before has nothing to do with who you are now. Don't let this man take away from you everything you are working so hard to build. You're so much stronger than you think."

"You think so."

Sharon smiled. "I know so. Now come on, I think you might deserve a little ice cream if you think it'll set well on your stomach."

"Pistachio?" Rusty set the washcloth on the counter.

"Of course."

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